Thirty Years
by baileybijoux
Summary: A glimpse into the first thirty years of Mary & Matthew's marriage. Fluff & angst abound.
1. 1920: Beginning

A/N: So, hello! This project will be a bit different for me, especially since I've only really dabbled in DA fic but I read it voraciously. Anyways, this is basically the "30 Days of Writing: A Drabble a Day" challenge by genimhaled on tumblr. This brilliant idea popped into my head and I had to do it. It's basically one drabble (err...ficlet. I suck at writing only 100 words) per year of Mary & Matthew's marriage. I apologize to any britpickers but I really, honestly try my best to get your culture & language right. So please please please correct any of my errors!

Onward ho!

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_ Beginning_

_ April 1920_

Mary sat at her vanity. It was unusually chilly outside, a front had blown in during their reception that was held outside near the flower gardens. The breeze was slipping in through the open window, the curtains fluttering about, and she pulled at her robe, willing it to make her warmer. She knew it would be stuffy if she shut the window, and, with one last glance in the mirror, she turned off the (newly acquired & very much electrical) lamp and made to crawl into her bed.

She had been married today. To Matthew. A smile slipped across her face every time she thought of it. It was still so, so surreal.

Just as she was dozing off, she heard her bedroom door creak open. She sat up immediately, fear creeping up her veins, thinking it could be any one of the many guests staying in the house at the moment. Her eyes hadn't quite adjusted to the darkness yet, but as the intruder crossed to the other side of her room, she caught a glimpse of his face through the slit of moonlight that came from the window.

"Matthew! What on earth are you doing? Someone could have seen you!" She whispered fiercely, while grabbing at the sheets on the other side of her bed, pulling them back for him.

She heard him chuckle. "My darling, I highly doubt anyone would have said anything," he said, sliding into bed next to her, "we _were _married today, after all."

"I come to Crawley House tomorrow, Matthew, could you have not waited until then?" Mary huffed, laying her head back down on the pillow, and turning over to face him.

Mary could practically hear him smile. Suddenly, his hand grabbed at her waist, pulling her body up against his.

Matthew's lips rested just centimeters from her own, tauntingly, for several seconds before he finally pressed them against hers. Mary grasped at his shirt, the cloth wrinkling in her tight grasp.

"Is it so bad," he said, his hand reaching up to cup her cheek, his thumb grazing her bottom lip, "for a man to sleep in the same bed as his wife?"

The next morning, Anna found them together. Matthew on his back, Mary with her arm over his chest and her hair (annoyingly) out of its plait. The corners of her mouth twitched into a tight smile, and she let them sleep a little longer.

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Thank you so much for reading! Leave a review if you can, it would be much appreciated (just as much as an alert or a favorite would!). The theme for next time is accusation :D

Bailey xx


	2. 1921: Accusation

A/N: Sorry for already being a day late (or two days now? I'm not sure, my days are so off because of my wonky work schedule), but I do have two chapters for you! I'm really enjoying doing this, it's so much fun! Also, to the reviewer who said the first chapter was too short... _technically _these are supposed to be drabbles (if I go by the challenge rules LOL), but I'm really terrible at writing something that has 100 words or less, so I try to keep the word count down as low as possible!

So, enjoy!

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_Accusation_

_ August 1921_

Matthew was beginning to be furious. Truly, truly furious. He gripped his fork tightly in his hand when Mary said she had somewhere to be that day. They hadn't spent a day together in weeks. There was the week she spent over in Ireland visiting Sybil and her daughter, and then decided, on a whim, to bring them back with her.

"What? I haven't seen Sybil since our wedding last year, and her baby's already a year old and I've only pictures of her," she pointed out.

Then, after Edith had announced her pregnancy, did things start to spiral downwards. Instead of spending all her days with Sybil, she spent them hiding in the sitting room, head in a book and refusing to speak with anyone. She constantly excused herself from dinner when Isobel would bring up either of her sisters.

He absolutely knew it was because he hadn't given her what she wanted yet. _A baby_. An heir. A son to let everyone in her family breathe easier. That's all she wanted.

Matthew went to work that day, his mind constantly drifting to thoughts of his wife's unhappiness, and knew he couldn't bring anything up to her. She would accuse him of thinking much further into things than he needed to, and insist that she was fine. And that was what was so infuriating about it all.

He entered the home he shared with his wife and mother with his head hung low, and after he hung his jacket on the coat rack, he buried his face in his hands.

_God_, he thought, _this can't go on forever_.

He found his wife laying in his bed, fully clothed, facing away from him. "Hello, Matthew," she said, quietly, sniffling a bit.

Matthew walked around to the other side of the bed, with some trepidation, and sat down. He noticed the tear stains on her cheek, but to be quite honest, it wasn't all that unusual to see her like that. "How was your day, darling?" He asked, reaching up to hold her hand.

"Perfect," she replied, her usual tone of sarcasm gone. "Matthew...I have some news."

He smiled. And so did she.

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A/N: Thanks for reading, again, and hopefully you'll continue on to the next chapter!

Also, follow me on tumblr! Username is baileybijoux :)

Bailey xx


	3. 1922: Restless

A/N: Well, here's the second update of the night! Hope you enjoy :)

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_Restless_

_February 1922_

Mary woke suddenly, her eyes still heavy. This past week had been exhausting. After about fourteen hours too many of labour, a constantly squalling infant, and her mother and grandmother insisting on visiting every day... she was tired of it all.

Not to say she wasn't over the moon about having this perfect child, because she was. Nothing in her life had made her happier than Dr. Clarkson telling her she had a son. He was hers, and he was Matthew's.

What had woken Mary was surprising to her. It wasn't the cries of her child in the little cot next to her, nor was it from the cold of being without the duvet that Matthew was so prone to stealing in the middle of the night. It was Matthew sitting down on her side of the bed, gazing into the cot.

"Matthew, what are you doing?" She whispered, sitting up to get a proper look at him.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," he replied, his hand reaching over to her knee. "I just couldn't sleep."

Mary huffed. "So you thought you'd come and disturb me?"

"No, no, of course not! I just... well, I... it's silly, really, nevermind," he mumbled, getting ready to stand back up again.

"Matthew..." she chided, her hand grabbing his arm to pull him back down.

He glanced at her, like a schoolboy in trouble. "When he's so quiet like this, well... it makes me a bit restless."

Mary's face broke into a large grin. "So, you're checking to see that he's still breathing, is that it?" She leaned forward to press a kiss on his cheek, motioning for him to move back to his side of the bed.

"When you put it that way, then yes," he said, over the chiming of the clock from downstairs. It was only midnight, apparently.

He slid into bed, his cold hands immediately finding hers. "And on another note, I am very happy to announce that, from the clock chimes, you are now thirty years old."

Mary promptly slapped him on the chest, but before she could get any sort of retort in, their son awoke with a scream.

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A/N: I would like to point out that not all chapters will be so freaking fluff-tastic. I've started planning quite a few of them out already (as well as planning Matthew & Mary's family out), and I've got quite a few darker ones going on. Also, Mary was born in 1892 according to wikipedia (I've no idea how accurate that is, but I'm trusting it!).

Have a lovely late night/morning depending on where you live, and review if you can!

Bailey xx


	4. 1923: Snowflake

A/N: Hello! Thanks for all the favorites, alerts (or is it follows now?), & reviews for the last couple of chapters! They are all appreciated and I will get caught up on review responses as soon as I have some free time :)

I think this one's shorter than the last few, but it's extraordinarily fluffy so yeah...enjoy!

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_Snowflake_

_ November 1923_

It had started that morning when Robbie charged into their bedroom, hardly before the sun had risen completely, and clambered on top of their bed. "Mama, outside!" He said, trying his hardest to whisper.

"Darling, it isn't quite morning yet," Mary moaned, and grew more annoyed when Matthew turned over to face the other wall.

Robbie looked crestfallen. Mary pushed the errant hairs out of his eyes, and lifted his chin up. "Do you want to lay with your Mama for a bit, until your sister wakes?"

He nodded enthusiastically, his dark eyes brightening a bit, before straddling her around the waist and burying his head beneath her neck. She knew they only had maybe ten minutes before Alice began to stir, because like her brother, she had only the patience to sleep for two hours at a time.

Later that day, after breakfast, Robbie practically ran to find Clare, his nanny, and to get changed into his winter clothes.

Mary watched from the salon's window as Matthew attempted to teach Robbie to throw a snowball. She watched the snowflakes hit the window and promptly melt away. She watched her daughter, only a few months old, doze off in her arms.

That day, Mary was truly happy.

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A/N: Thanks for reading and please review if you can! Also, follow me on tumblr as always, URL is in my profile :)

Have a lovely, lovely day and hopefully we'll be getting that season 3 promo soon!

Bailey xx


	5. 1924: Haze

_Haze_

_ July 1924_

Mary stood in front of the mirror, contemplating her outfit. It was the second time she had worn the black dress with the little embellishments around the collar that year. Granny had passed on in February, the day before Robbie's second birthday. She cried, of course, more than she thought she would, considering Granny's age. It was a short bout of pneumonia that took her in the end.

Just five months later, a stroke in the middle of the night, and then Mary's father was gone.

She hadn't cried yet.

Robbie appeared in the doorway, dressed in his nicest pair of short trousers and whatever clean shirt Clare had been able to find.

"Papa says we go now," he informed her, hands clasped behind his back.

Mary smoothed out the imaginary wrinkles in her dress and headed down the stairs hand-in-hand with her son.

The funeral itself was all a blur, and that whole day she was in a complete haze. She hardly remembered the burial, and then she found herself at Downton, making small talk with all the guests. "We're all so glad you could make it... Yes, he mentioned you very often... Oh, no, we left Alice at home today, she wasn't in the best mood..."

She hated talking to these people. She excused herself from the conversation she was having with Matthew and Evelyn Napier, and scanned the room for her mother. She found Carson standing near the doorway, and went up to him.

"Carson, did you happen to see where Mama went off to?"

He grimaced a bit. "She's upstairs, milady, she said she wasn't feeling well."

Mary thanked him, and took one last glance at Matthew laughing about something with Evelyn before heading for the main staircase.

She found Cora in her bedroom, sitting on the very edge of her bed. She had never seen her look so distraught and confused before, not even the night of... well, the other night.

"When... when are you and Matthew moving in?" She asked, her voice tight and shaky.

Mary joined her on the bed, and grabbed one of her mother's hands in both of hers. "Probably not for another week, we have to get the nursery set up here again, and there's other things to take care of... and, well, yes, just about a week, I think," she quavered, feeling her mother's hand practically vibrating.

"I see," Cora replied. "I should like to redecorate the Dower House, and I might have to stay here for-"

"Mama, you can stay here forever if you'd like," Mary blurted.

Cora smiled, tightly, and wrapped her arms around her eldest daughter. "I hope you've realized," her mother began, whispering into her hair, "you're the Countess of Grantham now. This is all yours."

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A/N: Lowering it down to one AN per chapter because I'm lazy, but thanks so much for reading! I'm really overwhelmed at the amount of hits I'm getting for this fic (a serious gasp escaped my mouth when I saw the number!), and all of the reviews and alerts are so much appreciated. I thought I might actually move out of the bedroom as the location but somehow I found myself back in one by the end of this chapter... I WILL prevail next chapter! I know this one and the last one were very Mary-centric, but I hope to get quite a few of Matthew-centric ones up soon. As always, review if you can and maybe even follow me on tumblr (same username)!

Bailey xx


	6. 1925: Flame

A/N: I may have stolen a line from the S3 spoiler-y things we've been getting, because it was so damn irresistible. Curse you, Fellowes!

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_Flame_

_ May 1925_

Sybil and Branson had arrived at Downton the weekend before. Matthew saw how grateful and flat out overjoyed Mary and Cora had been at the train station when they had arrived. Sybil hadn't been able to visit since Violet had passed on, and wasn't even able to be with her family after her father's death. She had given birth to her son, Peter, just weeks before and contracted some sort of nasty infection that Mary wouldn't speak to him about lest she succumb to it.

Branson stepped off the train first, Peter held tightly in his arms, and nodded to Matthew as he held his hand out for Sybil. Cora rushed over to her, with Mary hot on her heels, enveloping each other in various hugs and holding hands and their cheeks flushing with excitement. Sybil looked much fairer and weaker than the last time she had visited, and a slight feeling of sadness washed over him.

Yet he smiled at Cora holding her grandson for the first time, and Branson kneeling down to explain something to his daughter after she had hesitantly hopped off the train. They walked over to Matthew, and he gave his brother-in-law a warm shake of the hand.

"How were your travels?" Matthew asked him, keeping eyes on the chauffeur loading their trunks onto the motor.

"Fine, fine, until this one decided to be sick the whole way over the sea," he replied, his hand ruffling through Kathleen's dark curls, moving to cover her ears. "Sybil mentioned things weren't so smooth sailing over here as well..."

Kathleen squirmed against her father's legs, and Matthew sighed. Mary had obviously decided to discuss her marital problems with her sister in their letters than actually discuss them with her husband. "No, not for a while. Mary hasn't quite been the same since George was born, and, well, even since Robert died. She won't listen to me nor will she give the children the attention they're used to. I've decided the safest way to go is to leave her to own devices, I suppose."

"Things will get better," Branson reassured him, and clicked his tongue at the behaviour of his daughter. "Go to your mother then, if you'd rather," he said to her under his breath.

Matthew smiled. "It'll be nice having you around for a few weeks, Branson. You and Sybil will keep my mind off Mary's emotions."

"Well, I don't know about that," he chuckled, "but she still has that flame in her eyes, Matthew. It'll blow over soon, as long as you talk to her. And make her talk to you. I know she tends to put people in their place in arguments and such, but truly, you're the only person that can put up a fair fight."

They laughed, and out of the corner of his eye, Matthew saw Mary glance over at them rather quizzically.

"She may drive you mad half the time," he said, exhaling deeply, "but you won't be happy with anyone else as long as Lady Mary walks the earth."

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A/N: Aloha, my darlings. Hope you enjoyed tonight's chappy and I hope I stay more consistent with these LOL. THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE HITS OH MY GOD I AM JUST SO SHOCKED AT ALL THE VIEWS. As always, review if you can and then maybe possibly follow me on tumblr!

Bailey xx


	7. 1926: Formal

_Formal_

_ January 1926_

"Darling, I think we ought to go now," Matthew whispered into his wife's ear, hand brushing against the intricately-beaded dress she had gotten made specifically for this night. Some formal dinner, or a ball, or something. He still found half of his duties and obligations profoundly ridiculous. She immediately flinched away from him, continuing her conversation with the Countess of Mulgrave without a word to him.

They had been in London for three days now. Just the two of them. It was the first time the children had been without at least one of their parents, and it pained Mary to leave them on their own, even though Cora had been reassuring her everything would be fine for days beforehand.

Matthew had brought up the subject of the problems they had been having, and she brushed it off with any sort of excuse, that she was tired, that it was almost time to get dressed for dinner, or that she had promised Robbie she would ring him in ten minutes time. He wouldn't say anything in return; he was at his wit's end with her.

"Well, my husband's itching to get back to the house, so I'm afraid we'll have to be leaving soon." Her voice lilted above all others for him, and he watched her with expectant eyes as she made her way through the throngs of people.

She grabbed hold of his arm, and they headed out to the street. Their house was only half a block away, and Matthew insisted they had walked together.

"It's starting to snow, Matthew," she pointed out, catching a snowflake in the palm of her hand, "Robbie would love it, don't you think?"

Matthew nodded his head, giving a simple murmur of agreement in response. The children were quite honestly the last thing on his mind at the moment.

Their footman, Samuel, greeted them at the door, and Matthew informed him that there would be no reason for either him or the maid to come up tonight. "No reason at all," he reiterated. He knew this conversation would escalate quickly. He could feel the tension in Mary's hand already.

He found in their bedroom that the fire was already lit, thankfully. Mary walked in first, and lifted one foot behind her to slip off her shoe, one hand on the bedpost to keep her balance. She repeated the process as Matthew shrugged his dinner jacket off and quietly shut the door behind them.

"Matthew..." she began, still turned away from him, "I'm sorry I haven't been the best companion the past few days, it's been so busy after all."

He scoffed, and slowly paced towards her. "Really? Just the past few days?"

"Let's not do this now, Matthew, I-"

"Are you not happy, Mary?"

She turned to face him, a strange look in her eyes. "Of course I am, Matthew! Why wouldn't I be? We have three perfect children, a beautiful home... darling, I don't understand."

He ran a hand through his hair. "God, Mary, that's not... that's not what I'm talking about."

She shrugged her shoulders, her hands emphasizing words that she couldn't find, or couldn't say. Matthew's hands gripped her shoulders, one eventually sliding up over to her neck, her jaw, her cheek.

"Am I not making you happy? Because these past few years, we've not been the same, especially..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"Especially what?" She trilled, pulling forcefully out of his hands and moved to stand in front of the bookshelf.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself. Calming himself. Trying to decide what was best to do.

"Nothing, darling. I'm just being...umm, it's been a long night," Matthew sighed, picking up the pyjamas that had been set out for him. He began to undo his tie, when Mary quickly took over.

"Matthew, you make me unbelievably happy," she whispered, looking up at him, her fingers working at his tie.

"Then why-"

"I know...I know what you're talking about. I saw a doctor yesterday afternoon, and well, last weekend too, I suppose, when I said I was going to visit Edith for the day. I spoke to him, and it helped. Well, I hope it did. I'm seeing him again tomorrow, before we leave."

Matthew's eyebrows furrowed. Who got through to her?

"Let's just say whenever you have something to discuss, don't have your mother interrogate me whenever I visit with the children, all right?" She smirked, and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I didn't-"

Mary quickly put a finger up to his lips. "It's fine, really, Matthew. Let's just go to bed."

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A/N: Well, this was a long one! I did way too much research on the history psychoanalysis over the past few days for this chapter than I really needed to, as I ended up only vaguely mentioning it. Oh well, I learned some things in the process! :)

Hope you enjoyed, and please leave a review if you can and maybe even follow me on tumblr!

Bailey xx


	8. 1927: Companion

_Companion_

_ September 1927_

"But I don't _want _to go to school!" Robbie blubbered, fighting Clare away as she attempted to button up his cardigan. They stood in the main hall of the house, door open and car waiting for her son to head off to the local school.

Mary huffed. Her eldest son, five years old now, perfectly able to read, add and subtract, and write his name in nearly legible handwriting, fought any more education. He insisted he didn't need to know any more than that, that he would move on in life with no trouble.

Stubborn as could be, she thought. She was glad Matthew had convinced her to send Robbie to the small school in Downton, instead of staying with his governess until they shipped him off to Aysgarth when he turned eight. Something about social skills, he said.

She didn't understand at first. She had never had 'proper schooling' as he had put it, and she learned to socialize perfectly well. Better than most, really.

Clare had finally gotten the last button done, and Robbie ran to his mother's legs. "Where's Papa?" He whined, and Mary quietly swept his dark hair out of his eyes. He had to go to Ripon that day, leaving much earlier than his son.

If by some wonder, Carson appeared. "If I may, milady," he said, bowing slightly.

"Go ahead, you might as well try," she said, as Carson grabbed one of Robbie's hands and peeled him off of her.

He knelt down to the little boy's level, groaning slightly in his old age, and put his hands on both shoulders. "Master Robert," he began, watching the boy sniffle and subdue tears, "first of all, you must stop these tears, they don't do yourself any good."

"I s'pose," Robbie managed, gasping erratically, trying to keep sobs at bay.

"Your father is very smart, isn't he?" Carson questioned, a smile half-formed on his face.

Robbie merely nodded.

"Well, wouldn't you like to be smart as well?"

"But I am smart!" Robbie insisted, stamping his little foot on the floor.

Mary clucked. He hated when he started with this behaviour, she didn't tolerate it in the least.

Carson continued. "You are one of the smartest boys I've ever had the chance of knowing, but if you go to school, you can learn about mathematics, or physics, or literature, or well, maybe even law like your father! You can learn about anything you set your mind on, I am sure of it."

"I can learn all of those?" Robbie asked, a bit incredulously.

Chuckling, Carson said, "Of course you can. But really, Master Robert, you're running late."

Mary watched as her son and Carson strolled hand in hand out the door, and her heart fluttered. Carson considered Robbie his little companion. Whenever he needed to go to town, Robbie jumped at the chance to accompany him, helping the older man carry any packages or letters that needed to be sent, chatting away at full speed the whole time. She couldn't count the times Anna mentioned that the old butler had snuck her son down to the kitchens before bed, giving him the chocolate biscuits that he wasn't allowed to have at tea time. Mary never questioned the man about it, she adored him just as much as Robbie did, and what could a little indulgence do to the boy?

She was swiftly pulled out of her reverie when she felt a tug on her skirts, and saw her little girl standing next to her, her play dress already askew even though it was hardly nine in the morning.

She swiftly picked Alice up to balance her on her hip, and attempted to fix the bow in her hair with her free hand. "Mama, when I go to school next year, I _promise _I won't make trouble," she insisted.

Mary laughed at the cheek her daughter possessed. "Oh, you promise, do you?"

Alice nodded fiercely, her hair falling out of her bow yet again, and squiggled out of her arms when she saw the family dog, Cleo, run down the stairs.

While the dog was tackling her daughter to the ground, licking her face, and causing her to squeal with delight (and ignore her mother's warnings that she must act like a lady at all times), Mary knew she would be trouble. She would just have to give it time.

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A/N: I know, I know, no Matthew in this one. Sorry! I had to fit a little cute one in before the next chapter which I'm basically terrified to write. Lord, the things I do to my favorite characters! Hope you enjoyed the Robbie/Carson cuteness, because I sure did. I basically had the silliest grin on my face the whole time I was writing this one.

Review if you can and maybe follow me on tumblr! Thanks so much for reading and GOOD LORD THANK YOU FOR ALL THE VIEWS. It's absolutely ridiculous!

Bailey xx


	9. 1928: Move

_Move_

_ October 1928_

Alice spent the morning of the fourth in the nursery, still in her school uniform but not going to school. No one would tell her why, and she was sure Robbie knew, but Carson took both the boys out for a walk a half hour earlier. She had sat in her chair, the one in the corner that basked in the morning light, vaguely listening to Clare reading something to her. It was probably _Peter Pan_, as that was what she had fallen asleep to the night before.

"Where's Mama? She usually reads to us at night, not you," Alice said to her.

Clare squinted her eyes at the girl, only saying that her mother was 'a bit preoccupied.' The woman, who she knew was older than her mother, much preferred the boys over her. They acted as they were supposed to, loud and rowdy and playful. Alice wanted to do the same... she loved tumbling around in the gardens, riding the bike her father had taught her to ride over the summer, just about anything that her brothers could do.

It annoyed her. Everything about the notion of 'being a lady' annoyed her.

"Nanny Clare, I have a question," Alice piped in, sitting up from her slouched position.

Clare looked up from above her reading glasses. "And is it so important to interrupt me?"

Ignoring her nanny's question, she continued. "Mama isn't having the baby, is she?"

The woman just stared at her for a moment, a contemplative look in her eyes. She shut the book softly, fingers still holding her place.

"Because... because Mama said it wouldn't be here until nearly December," she said quietly, gauging Clare's reaction. "That's bad, isn't it?"

"My dear," she began, "you have to understand that sometimes, bad things happen to good people. And everything happens for a reason."

Fear coursed through the little girl's veins. What if there was something wrong with Mama? She knew Clare was still talking to her, and her only instinct was to dash from the room. She ran down the length of the corridor, gasping for air, going as fast as her little stockinged feet could take her. She remembered the night before, before dinner, when Mama mentioned that she hadn't felt the baby move in a while, and Papa said that it might just be sleeping.

She didn't notice the panicked expressions on their faces.

Just as she reached the door to her mother's bedroom, Anna appeared from the room. Alice stopped in her tracks, feet sliding a bit on the carpet.

Before Anna could get anything out, Alice couldn't help but to blurt out, "Where's Mama? Is she all right?"

She saw Anna's hands tighten into fists, before letting them back out again. "She's fine, Lady Alice. What are you doing over here anyways? Did you sneak off from Nanny Clare again?"

Alice knew the maid was trying to divert her away from the scene, so she kept on. "But I want to see her!"

"Not now, darling, I think all your mother needs now is some rest and-"

Matthew stuck his head out from the doorway, and Alice immediately burst into tears. With her father, the second she began to cry, she was able to get anything out of him. But truly she wasn't trying to manipulate him. It was so frustrating that she couldn't get any information out of anyone, and that brought her to her brink.

"My sweet girl, what's the matter?" He said, moving swiftly to swoop her up in his arms, her head immediately burying itself in his shoulder.

"Mama... please... I need to," she managed out between gasps and hiccups.

"Well, your Mama is very tired and very... sad, so if you stop those tears, I'll bring you in," he murmured to her, and when she leaned away, she saw his red eyes.

Wiping away the tear tracks from her cheeks, she sniffled. "Papa, you look sad."

Matthew gave her a small smile. "It's a sad day, Alice. Sometimes papas get sad, too. But you have to be strong for your Mama, all right? No more crying."

"No more," she reiterated, shaking her head.

Finally, he brought her inside. Her mother was in bed, on her side, the blankets only up to her hips. When she noticed Matthew had brought their daughter along, she sat up slowly.

"I knew you'd make your way in here at some point," Mary chided, wincing slightly as Alice clumsily made her way across the bed to her mother.

Matthew began sliding on his light coat, muttering something about going to go find the boys. Her mother said not to tell them until later, when they were there together.

"What are you talking about?" Alice said, her mother grabbing hold of her hand.

Mary smiled, and her eyes began to well up. "It scares me how perceptive you are sometimes, Alice," she said, her eyes shutting tightly, not particularly wanting to cry in front of her daughter.

"Am I in trouble?" Alice whispered, not really understanding the word she had used. It made her mother laugh, so at least she was out of the woods on that end.

"No, darling, but... you do believe in angels, don't you?"

Alice nodded her head. Clare spoke of them quite often, that they keep you safe and warn you about bad things to come.

"Well, you have a new guardian angel," she explained, her voice tight, "and his name is Theodore, and he'll keep you out of trouble, all right?"

Alice perked up immediately. Something to keep her out of trouble was exactly what she needed.

"Forever?" She asked her, playing with the ends of her mother's hair.

"For as long as you'd like," Mary said, reaching forward to embrace her daughter.

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A/N: Umm...

I'M SORRY OKAY. I've had this one planned since the beginning, and basically I've been dreading it ever since. God the things I do to these people...

Bailey xx


	10. 1929: Silver

_Silver_

_ December 1929_

It was Matthew's birthday. His fortieth, in fact. Stuck in between Christmas and the end of the year, he had always preferred a quiet affair. It seemed easier for them all, somehow. It was one of the very rare instances when Mary had allowed the children to bring their toys into the drawing room, and there they all sat in front of the fire. Robbie had received a rather nice train set from his Grandmother Cora for Christmas, and he was very patiently (though, not for long, it seemed) showing it to his brother. Alice sat in the chair opposite them, flipping through a gargantuan collection of Grimm's Fairy Tales.

"Some of these are really quite awful," she piped up, dejectedly resting her head against the wing of the chair.

Mary, who was laying across the sofa with her legs curled over Matthew's lap, sighed. "How so, sweetheart?"

"_The Girl Without Hands_? Why would I want to read about a girl with no hands?" She questioned. At the age of six, Alice's attitude was beginning to rival her mother's. It honestly scared Matthew, and he had no shame in admitting it.

Mary groaned quietly, only loud enough for Matthew to hear. "Alice, why don't you try _Snow White_. It'll be much more interesting, I'm sure," Matthew cut in.

"Oh, all right," she relented, flipping back to the table of contents.

It was already half-past nine, and the children should have been to bed hours ago. Matthew insisted he wanted to spend as much time as possible with his family, because it was his birthday and honestly, the day had gone so well, what was the problem with prolonging it?

That was until Robbie had "accidentally" placed his foot in front of George's, causing his brother to trip and land flat on his face.

After consoling her youngest son, Mary immediately insisted that the three of them were off to bed. It took a bit of time, especially considering Alice's whining that she had just started reading her story.

"You've got all day long tomorrow, Alice," Mary said severely, watching them all file out of the room, making sure they made it up the stairs unscathed.

Matthew stared at her. Nearly nine years of marriage and she was still uncannily beautiful. Here he was, lines in his face and his hair quickly going silver "in his old age," as Mary put it. He looked in his hands, the photograph given to him by his mother earlier that night. Taken a few days before Christmas, it was a lovely family portrait. Matthew and his wife standing behind the chair that their younger son sat in, with Robbie standing to the side, and Alice on the floor in front of it.

It was a lovely photograph, he knew. But it still really pained him inside, to see his family so incomplete. He understood Theodore was gone. Officially, on paper, he had never been alive to begin with. But Matthew knew he had, he had felt him underneath his palm, he had kept Mary up night after night with his foot lodged in her ribcage.

On very rare occasions, Matthew felt that the loss of their son pained him more than it did Mary. She spoke of him so nonchalantly with Alice, like it was some normal occurrence. But always he reeled himself in, realising that Mary wasn't the one to deal with problems in the commonly accepted manner. They hardly spoke of him together, and when they did, Mary shut him down quickly.

It had only been a year. He had finally learned that all Mary needed was time.

"Matthew? Do you want to come up to bed?" She heard his wife call out, shaking him out of his reverie.

He stood up quickly, stuffing the photograph into his pocket. "Yes, sorry. Lost in my own thoughts."

* * *

A/N: So, so sorry for the lack of an update last night! I worked until midnight, and I had an awful time at work so I was not in the mood for writing. But anyways, I'll stop the excuses. Thank you all so much for your kind reviews for the last chapter, I was so glad it was well-received. As you can see, I'm really starting to adore Alice after writing the last few chapters, so she'll probably be featured more often in the future. :D

Review if you can and follow me on tumblr! You guys are the best!

Bailey xx


	11. 1930: Prepared

_Prepared_

_ September 1930_

Two of them. Two of them at the same time.

Mary had learned it four months ago, and she still was in shock. But they were there, battling each other for any more space in her womb, one set of legs lodged in the left side of her ribs, and the other's head lodged in the right for ages. She had never been more uncomfortable in her life, she thought during the endless nights she spent tossing around in bed, hardly ever finding a decent position to fall asleep in.

She and Matthew hadn't really been _trying _for another, but on the other hand, they certainly weren't stopping it from happening. After the loss of their last child, everyone was happy to hear they were expecting again (Cora especially, the more grandchildren she had to coddle, the better), but she could see the tiniest hint of fear behind their eyes. She didn't want them to think that these two would replace him, because they wouldn't. He was so, so tiny in her arms, and even though she only held him for a few moments, he was still real.

She still thought of him every day.

Exactly two weeks after Robbie had left for prep school, her pains began. Mary insisted that Matthew be in the room with her. Dr Clarkson obviously protested, but after a lingering glare from the Countess, he relented. She didn't want to be alone if something terrible happened, because honestly, she didn't think she could handle it again.

But she didn't have to worry. Both of them, both of her sweet little girls, had come into the world screaming like they had been set on fire. Nothing could have prepared her for the relief that came washing over her body when they were both perfectly fine.

George and Alice came bounding into the room once they had returned home from school, excitedly asking their parents what sort of siblings they had now.

"I knew you had them, Mama, because Carson was there after school and Papa had promised to take us home so I knew something had happened! But he wouldn't tell us _anything_, Mama! He's very good at keeping secrets," her daughter said, speaking at a million miles an hour.

Mary laughed, watching as Alice anxiously stood on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse at the bundle in her arms. "This one is Eleanor," she said, reaching forward to stroke a finger down her little cheek, "and she looks very much like you."

She watched as her children leaned far into the bed, looking at her with a bit of trepidation.

"And the one your Papa has, her name is Matilda."

"Matilda?" Her son piped up, his confusion of the name choice obvious.

"Well, it's your Aunt Sybil's middle name," Matthew said. He didn't like it either, she knew, but she had to honour at least one of her sisters somehow.

"Darling, it was either that or Eugenia, and I let you have your pick," she retorted, wondering how on earth her parents had decided that those were acceptable second names for their children.

Noticing the tension between her own parents, Alice broke in. "Can we call her Tilly? There's a girl in my class named that, and she's very nice."

Matthew smiled at his seven-year-old daughter. "If you'd like, yes."

Soon after, Mary shooed them away, as their schoolwork still needed to be done no matter how many new relatives they had gained that day.

Matthew sighed, settling into a chair beside the bed, Tilly becoming fussy in his arms. "This is one of the many days I wished your father were still here," he murmured.

"How so?"

"Well, he raised three daughters perfectly well, without the need to go into some sort of, I don't know... mental breakdown. Some advice would be lovely."

Mary grinned, trying to restrain any laughter as much as possible for fear of waking Eleanor. "First of all, you are incorrect in presuming that he managed to raise us perfectly well. Austen and Alcott may present sisters as the best of friends, but we were constantly at each other's throats in one way or another until very, very recently. Sybil included. And second of all," his wife continued, eyebrows raised, "if you haven't already had some sort of mental breakdown about Alice, then I daresay you've been doing it wrong all along."

Her husband laughed, and shrugged his shoulders in defeat. "Well, this will be an even bigger challenge than her, won't it?"

"Unfortunately, I do believe so!"

* * *

A/N: YAY THEY'RE FINALLY HAPPY AGAIN. After watching Team USA freaking dominate the women's gymnastics finals I was in a very, very good mood (including the twenty minutes or so of happy tears), so obviously I was in the mood to write something really sickeningly fluffy. So let's all blame Aly Raisman's triumphant face at the end of her floor routine for that!

Anyways, thank you so much for all of the reviews and hits and such! They brighten my day always! Please leave a review if you can :)

Bailey xx


	12. 1931: Knowledge

_Knowledge_

_ October 1931_

Mary quietly shut the door behind her, sighing in relief that her children were all asleep at the same time. She felt like she and Matthew hadn't slept for days. An outbreak of chicken pox at the school, and within a week and a half, her four youngest children were in bed. At any one moment, one of them was crying or moaning and Clare did her best to soothe them, but eventually, one of them would ask for their Mama or Papa.

She had to rock Tilly to sleep for the second time that night, after Clare's attempt left the girl inconsolable. Making her way down the corridor, she willed her children not to make a sound, that maybe, just maybe, she could crawl into bed and at least get a couple hours of solid sleep. As she was passing the room that housed her eldest son, who was back home for half term and who had thankfully already had the chickenpox in his infancy, she stopped in her tracks.

Some sort of rhythmic murmurs were escaping from his room, and her curiosity piqued. Pressing her ear to the door, and grew frustrated that she couldn't understand his words any better. It was at least eleven, after all, and there was absolutely no reason her nine-year-old son should be up, so she just pushed in.

Robbie sat in the middle of his bed, his torch pointed at a book in his lap. His head snapped up when she opened the door, his dark eyes growing wide in anticipation of her reaction.

"Robert Crawley, I sent you to bed a very long time ago! What on earth are you doing?" She demanded, shutting the door behind her before she moved to his nightstand to turn on the lamp.

"Mama, I'm sorry! I'm just... reading, really. That's all," he insisted, gesturing to the small, hardcover book in his lap.

Mary looked at him, eyes squinting. "All right, if you say so," she said, turning to leave. "I'll make sure one of the footman has you up an hour earlier than usual though."

"But Mama!" He whined, scurrying out of bed. "It's for school, I promise!"

She didn't believe him, and went to pick up the book he had left on top of his blankets.

_The Collected Works of Lord Byron_. She huffed in disbelief. "Lord Byron? You're reading Lord Byron for school already?" She questioned, holding up the book as if she had confiscated something terrible.

"N-no," he stammered, "Mr Pond is having us memorize a poem over half term, and I remembered Papa said one to me a while ago, and I've been having trouble finding it until tonight."

Of course it was Mr Pond. Hardly thirty, extremely progressive in his teachings, and making her son into some sort of romantic sop before he hit ten years old. She sighed. Her son was supposed to be learning things she didn't with her governess, that was the whole point in sending him off to school at such a young age. The idea of knowledge is different to everyone, she supposed. Maybe Mr Pond had an ulterior motive.

"Oh? Which one is it, then?" She asked, handing the book back to him, and her hands resuming to their natural position on her hips.

Robbie looked down at the floor, his hands gripping at the spine of the book. "It's a little embarrassing, really, Mama..." he muttered, toes curling in the carpet.

"Darling, if you're going to have to recite it in front of your whole class, then saying it to your mother should be less of an embarrassment."

Robbie relented. Tossing the book back onto his bed, he clasped his hands behind his back, and found a fixed point in the wall.

Her son began reciting _She Walks in Beauty _to her. She remembered, clear as day, the day she recited it to her governess. "Enunciate, Mary, dear," she would say to her, over and over again. "Alliteration is there for a reason, make it known, Mary."

Then she remembered what her son had said to her not seconds before. _Papa said it to me_.

She let her son finish the second stanza, after which he muttered something about that's as far as he had gotten. "Darling, did you say your Papa said this to you?"

He nodded quickly. "It was the day before I left for school last month. Papa and I were sitting on the bench out in the garden and you were walking towards us, and, well, I don't know, he just said it, I suppose. Just the first part, though."

Her heart melted. Snapping the book up again, she insisted that Robbie go to bed, and left quickly after kissing his cheek.

–

Matthew lay in bed, reading over something that had been sent to him in the post that day that he hadn't had time to read until now. Something over finances and investments, as usual. After reading over the same paragraph three times and not taking anything in, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

Mary stood in the doorway, and cleared her throat, bringing his attention to her. She held a book in her hands, dangling from two fingers.

"Slowly turning Robbie into a romantic, I see," she said, a playful smirk on her face.

Matthew furrowed his brows. "What are you-" He began to say, before Mary paced over to him, pressing her lips against his fervently.

"What are you talking about?" He managed, finally, when she moved away from him, only centimeters, it seemed.

She smiled, grabbing the papers out of his hands and tossing them onto the nightstand, and moved to straddle his waist.

"Lord Byron, Matthew? You can do so much better."

* * *

A/N: So so sorry about that little hiatus! Life got a bit hectic. BUT ANYWAYS.

Lolololol I apologize for the fluffy fluff, but seriously I got this idea in my head after seeing the poem mentioned in one of my textbooks for next semester and I couldn't NOT write it.

As always, review if you can and maybe follow me on tumblr! Same username as here :)

Bailey xx


	13. 1932: Denial

_Denial_

_ August 1932_

Matthew clearly remembered the moment Alice was placed in his hands for the first time. Swaddled in a white blanket, a tiny, tiny hand reached out from an equally tiny body. It wasn't quite the same experience as holding his son, he had to admit. With his son, he felt a swell of pride and a weight was lifted from his shoulders. His daughter, however, this wave of terror washed over him and he had never been so nervous before in his life.

This beautiful, pink, squashed face with a shock of dark hair was _his daughter_. He was her father. He had no idea what to do. He hadn't grown up in an environment that included any sort of father-daughter relationship. He had no sisters, his mother lost her father when she was young... and lord, all he saw of Mary's relationship with her father was how much they bickered and how much she constantly fought against his wishes. But somehow, they still loved each other.

And now, that tiny thing was nine years old. A rambunctious, endlessly chatty, miniature version of his wife. She still terrified him nearly on a daily basis.

She was up the tree in the garden. Matthew stood against the trunk, eyes fixed on his daughter who was sliding herself further along a branch.

"Alice, really, I'd much prefer it if you didn't go any further," he worried, glancing around for any sign of Mary. They'd both be in trouble if she caught them... Alice would be scolded for not acting like a lady, and Matthew for not enforcing it.

But honestly, she was a girl. A child. Someone who needed to be primed and prepped for the outside world, and if that took her falling from a tree and learning her lesson, then so be it. Robbie had done it the past summer, and a broken wrist was the result. He hadn't gone near the tree since.

"But Papa! I've gone much further," she insisted, moving along until finally settling about two feet from the end of the branch.

"What can you see from there, darling?" He asked, walking to stand under her, just in case an accident might rear its head.

"Well, Mama is playing with Tilly and Eleanor on the blanket... don't worry, she isn't looking. And then Robbie and George are fighting, I think," she said with a sigh.

He felt awful for her sometimes. The only one without some sort of companion, and yet, to be quite honest, the brightest hope for this family. She would be the one to change things.

He hated to admit it, but he knew it was true. Robbie yearned to join the military like his Papa and his grandfather (a thought that gave him a shudder), George would probably read literature or maybe even economics at university... but Alice, she would be in a league of her own. He had no doubt in his mind that she could do anything she put her mind to. So like her mother in that way, he supposed. So unpredictable.

And now she wasn't restrained by expectations like her mother was. Denying her of the life choices her brothers possessed was not an option for him. Her name was down for Cheltenham, and she would become a smart woman, an independent one. She began taking lessons in Latin and Greek over the summer, and despite all her protests, he knew it would aid her in the future.

He wanted her to succeed, and not be defined by her choice of what man to marry and the social class that would come with it.

He wanted her to be happy, and if she went against his wishes and decided to marry young and be a good, doting wife, then it would be her choice and he had never, ever doubted his daughter's decisions.

Except for this day, when the branch snapped underneath her weight and she came crashing down to the ground, narrowly missing her father. She cried for her Mama, like they all did when they were hurt, and Matthew picked her up in his arms and braced himself for the berating he would receive.

* * *

A/N: Well, I'm really, truly sorry for this mini-hiatus I went on. Life reared its ugly, annoying little head and I got extremely distracted. Plus, my original idea for this chapter was a complete mess and I finally just deleted it and wrote this instead. Trust me, Matthew/Alice fluff is about ten times better than what I had come up with at first... ick.

Anyways! Please review if you can and hit me up on tumblr!

Bailey xx


	14. 1933: Wind

_Wind_

_ March 1933_

"No tie today, milord?" Bates asked him, holding the strand of cloth between his hands. Matthew glanced out the window of his dressing room, finding it to be bright and sunny.

He shook his head. "No, not today, I think."

Sliding his shoes on, he made his way to his wife's room. Anna had just done the top button on the back of Mary's blouse, and she chimed a cheery "morning," before walking over to place a kiss on his cheek. As she leaned back, she noticed the lack of a tie, and with a raised brow, she undid his top button.

"Much better," she said, and gently took hold of his hand as they walked together towards the nursery.

Alice and George must have already been downstairs to take their breakfast, because when Matthew pushed the door open, only their two smallest came rushing towards them. Already dressed, bows in their hair included, he gave a smile and nod to Clare. The girls frazzled her more than any of the other children combined.

Tilly always ran to her mother, and Eleanor to him. It had always been this way, ever since they had been born, it seemed. He lifted Eleanor, his youngest (by only seventeen minutes, he could hear her saying in a few years time), into his arms with ease, and she looked at him excitedly with those bright, blue eyes; the only one of his girls to inherit them.

"Sleep well, my darling?" He asked her, and she merely nodded in response, giggling when he pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose.

Tilly, who already rested on her mother's hip, raised both her arms into the air. "Me too, Papa!" She insisted, and thrust her face towards him. He repeated the kiss to his Tilly, and they made their way down to breakfast.

They caught George and Alice in time to say goodbye, and ate their meal in near silence, excepting the girls' babbling. Clare took them back upstairs to play for a while, before it was warm enough to go outside.

"Lovely time for a walk, wouldn't you agree?" Mary quipped, placing her napkin on the plate.

Making their way outside, Mary gasped a bit when she noticed how windy it was outside. Before they had even stepped foot onto the gravel, a few strands of hair had escaped the many expertly placed pins. They walked for a while, to the edge of the woods, with only the sound of the wind howling around their ears. Mary leaned closer in to him as they walked on, and Matthew took that as a sign of her discomfort of the chill.

They stopped underneath a large tree, whose branches grew so far away from its trunk that they dangled slightly down towards the ground. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and she stepped around gracefully over the trodden, well-worn earth to him, her face nuzzled against his neck. He embraced her fully now, and they stood there, listening to the wind whip around them and the birds flutter overhead. No one would interrupt them.

It was a glorious isolation.

Finally, Mary leant her head back, and looked up at him. Her fingers were at the opening of his shirt, sliding softly over the edges of the fabric. "Are you trying to tease me a bit today?" She murmured, a small smile formed on her lips.

Matthew chuckled, and Mary felt it reverberate through her own body. "I'm only trying to get back at you for that dress you wore the other night at dinner," he replied, his hands sliding up to her shoulders.

"What? The backless one?" She said, the tiniest bit of lip caught between her teeth.

"Mmm," he agreed, his hands moving further upwards to her neck, his thumbs brushing against her jawline.

He waited for Mary to make the first move, mostly because he liked to toy with her that way, but also because he enjoyed it when she did. After more than twenty years of toying with each other, both mentally and physically, she still wanted him, somehow. This near completely grey-haired man with wrinkles the size of canyons on his forehead was still the love of her life.

Her eyes locked with his, only for a brief moment, before she glanced down at his lips, and finally, ever so gently, she made her move.

* * *

A/N: Welllll a bit of fluffy, plotless drivel for you there! The next chapter I've already had planned for a while, so that should be up sooner rather than later. And it includes no fluff (surprisingly enough).

Please review if you can (seriously they make my day) and you can always hit me up on the tumblr! Have a lovely fifteenth everyone :)

Bailey xx


	15. 1934: Order

_Order_

_ January 1934_

Gravel crunched beneath her feet, her feet methodically moving one right in front of the other. Her eldest son was beside her, a grim look on his face. She had dreaded this day for weeks now. Occasionally stealing glances at Robbie, whose mouth was set in a straight line, muscles twitching in his face, she wished she wouldn't have had to bring him along. He would have never forgiven her if she did such that.

Bates had taken over as butler a few months ago, just as Carson's health began to spiral downwards. Mary had to practically force him to take leave, but he relented after a few days of insistence and a few problems downstairs. He told her that he'd be well after a week or so, and this was in November. He was afraid the house would fall to shambles without his orderly direction. It was so very incorrect, as it had been a little more than a month and the house was running fine. Carson was not needed. He had spent the past two weeks in bed, unable to get out of it himself.

He was actually _dying_. A request had been sent from his niece, who was taking care of him, for her to visit. They had only spent a half hour there, as he was so weak. It was all a blur, all of it, except for one moment.

"Do not think me inappropriate for saying this, Lady Mary, but... you have made me so proud."

Her breath hitched in her throat when the front door swung open, reality hitting her when Bates was the one to greet them. She hastily shrugged her coat off, placing it in Bates's arms, and scurried off up the stairs, holding back everything.

Her daughter's piano lesson was going on in the music room, and the steady tempo and precise rhythm kept her emotions still enough for a moment. Suddenly, the music stopped.

"Not with so much flair, Lady Alice! This is a gigue by Bach, not some showy Liszt piece," her teacher said in annoyance.

"When can I play L-"

"Do not even humor me with such a question," he said, cutting her off with an exasperated sigh. The comment should have made Mary laugh, and she desperately wanted to, but she finally reached the top step without breaking down in front of her son who was hot on her heels.

"I told Bates that I'll be taking a tray tonight," he said to her, and her hand brushed against Robbie's arm as he walked past.

Walking into her bedroom, she quietly shut the door behind her, and leant against it. A single sob escaped her throat.

Everything was so quick with her father. She never got to say goodbye, for him to say he was proud of her... every time she thought of it, she felt like it was a knife to the heart. It was everything she wanted to hear from her father, just one last time.

There was a knock at the door. Just one knuckle against the hard wood rapping against it three times. "Mary..." Cora's voice said from the other side.

Turning around slowly, wiping tears from her cheeks, she pulled the door open. It was all in vain, though, because the second she caught her mother's knowing glance, she broke down again. Her shoulders dropped and she was racked with sobs.

"Oh, Mama," she began, unable to form any sort of sentence once her mother's arms wrapped around her.

She gave herself time to cry in her mother's arms like any daughter would. After all, tomorrow would come and everything would be all right again.

* * *

A/N: Well, some Mary/Carson feels for you. I was going to have Matthew come in at the end there, but Cora seemed to be more fitting as I'm sure she was more aware of Mary's relationship with Carson than Matthew was. Anyways... thank you for all your wonderful reviews on the last chapter! This is now my most-read story on FFN (which is ridiculous to me, but that's neither here nor there!), so thank you SO MUCH for all your support. It does truly mean a lot! :)

Bailey xx


	16. 1935: Thanks

A/N: Well. That hiatus was fun. Essentially, school started, I became overwhelmed pretty much instantly, and this chapter ended up having two different versions because I am generally unhappy with all of my writing lately. In the end, I think this worked out alright! I've decided to expand on a few of the kids, as a few of them become pretty important later on. Please tell me in the reviews if you'd like that or if I should just stick to Mary & Matthew.

(Plus I made this one way longer than usual because I felt so bad for being gone for so long!)

* * *

_Thanks_

_ October 1935_

It was the second time Mary had to be at the train station that day. She stood next to the pillar, desperately wanting to slouch against it, but only allowed the rough bricks brush against the light wool of her coat instead. The chauffeur stayed behind in the car, as he was asked, because she wanted this moment all to herself.

The train was in the distance. Her hands were clasped against her front, quietly cursing herself for forgetting her gloves. It was the late train, and it had been dark for hours now, growing colder by the minute. Finally, the train slowed its chug, and the attendant stepped out from the door.

He held out his hand for the lone passenger, and the girl in question merely leaped off the train, completely disregarding the man, and ran for her mother.

Alice instantly wrapped her in a warm hug. Mary knew her daughter wasn't one to be away from home for too long, and one term of school was almost too much for her. She noted that the top of Alice's head reached past her own chin now, and her body was long and lanky just as hers had been in her adolescence. What a few weeks could do.

"Where's Papa?" Alice asked, her first choice of words a bit annoying to her mother.

"Eleanor's having night terrors again, but yes, it's lovely to see you again, darling," Mary quipped, pulling her daughter back to get a full look at her.

"Oh! I thought the hug might have sufficed. I'm sorry, I'm just excited to be back, I suppose!"

Mary laughed quietly. She noticed the attendant pulling Alice's small trunk off the train, and watched as her daughter went to receive it. Almost cringing at the awkwardness of Alice's social ineptness, she realised that she couldn't really expect anything else from a twelve-year-old girl.

"Why didn't you go to Aunt Rosamund's in London? That's what we had planned for you," Mary asked, walking back to the car with her daughter trailing slightly behind her.

There was silence for a moment.

"I just... I just really didn't want to go, Mama," she said, almost too quiet for her to hear.

"Does this have to do with the fact that Agnes and Alexandra would be there at the same time?" Mary looked pointedly at her daughter, watching as she rolled her eyes at the mention of her two cousins.

Alice sighed, and then forced a smile at the chauffeur when he took her trunk from her and loaded it into the car. She slid into the seat after her mother, and pulled the hem of her skirt back down to her knees.

"Agnes is always so nasty to me, and then Alexandra, she's in a different world half the time, I don't know how to talk to her," she confessed, not looking her mother in the eye.

Mary sat plaintively in the dark of the car, not responding because she knew her daughter understood the tension she and Edith used to share, and have since grown out of. Their own daughters were no exception; they would definitely grow out of it. _Hopefully_, Mary corrected herself.

The car rattled along down the gravel roads, and silence encompassed them until the house came into sight.

"Robbie's here, isn't he?" Alice questioned, resting against her arm on the car door.

"Mmm. Your father and I picked him up from the station this morning."

Alice smiled. "Good. I missed him. And George, I suppose."

"And what of your sisters?" Mary asks, eyebrow raised in amusement. The car slowed to a stop in front of Downton, and she watched her daughter gaze up at the brightened façade.

"They're only four, Mama," she huffed, pulling the door open, and she made her way to the front entrance without giving Mary a chance to catch up with her.

By the time Mary was shrugging her coat off inside, Alice had her father in a tight embrace. He said something to make her laugh, enough to put some colour in her face. Matthew kissed Alice on the cheek, and they said good night to each other.

Mary sighed, not trying at all to keep it hidden. "Well, I'll see you in the morning, darling," she called after her daughter, who was taking the stairs two at a time.

"'Night, Mama," she called out over her shoulder, before disappearing around the corner.

Matthew looked at her expectantly, like he was preparing himself for a barrage of complaints about their daughter's apparent choice of parent. It wasn't worth it anymore, especially now when she was at the age where she would roll her eyes at everything Mary said to her. But instead of opening her mouth, she merely clenched her fists and headed up the stairs.

"Mary, I do have to speak with you..."

–

Alice sat upright in her bed, fingering at a loose thread in one of her blankets. It had been an hour now since her papa said he would speak to her mother about... well, _it_.

She felt so terrible. Her parents so expected her to finish school, go on to university, to become something worthwhile, and here she was, throwing it all away for something so risky. Shutting her eyes tightly, she willed one of her parents to come rushing through the door, to tell her that it was a stupid idea to even consider, and _of course _she can't not finish school.

Suddenly, there was a quiet rap on the door. She knew it was Mama before the door even opened. It was the hesitance that made it so clear, because if it was Papa, he wouldn't even bother to knock.

Mary appeared in the doorway, not even changed into her nightclothes (which only signalled to Alice that the conversation had to have been intense, and her throat clenched), and Alice's hands instinctively went to pull her duvet higher up her chest as Mary turned to shut the door behind her noiselessly.

"Alice..." she began, her name released in some sort of an annoyed exhale.

_Here it goes_.

"Mama, I know...I know it's not ideal, but I think I can-"

Her words stopped when her mother's hand raised in front of her. "Alice, this isn't particularly what I came to speak with you about," she said, a smile trying to force its way onto her face.

Alice's eyebrow raised. "It isn't? I thought Papa was going to talk to you about my teacher wanting me to audition for the academy."

Mary slowly made her way around to Alice's side of the bed, one arm tucked beneath her breast and the other dangling to her side, forefinger picking at thumb. "I just wanted to say that," she said, settling herself next to Alice's legs on the bed, "you don't have to make your father the middleman between us. I know we tend to quarrel quite a bit, but it just means we're both headstrong. You're very much like me, unfortunately, and I only get upset with you because of that."

"I know, Mama," Alice said, a bit annoyed. She hated when her mother got sentimental.

Mary picked up on her daughter's discomfort, and moved to pick up her hand, quickly changing the subject. "However, what do you think about this audition? Is it really what you want?"

Alice tensed, she wasn't expecting the conversation to fall into her hands. The clock chimed its way past midnight, and she cleared her throat. "Well... my teacher at school, he's started me on newer pieces, Ravel and Debussy mostly, and he thinks I'll be really, really great. That's what he says anyways. He won't have me audition for at least two more years, to build up my repertoire."

Mary smiled, and placed a small kiss on the back of her hand. "No, darling, I asked what _you _wanted, not your teacher."

_Oh. _She felt like she had planned this answer out since school had begun that year, but for those few moments of silence, the whole speech slipped from her mind.

Clearing her throat again, more out of nerves than the actual need to, she began with a shaky tone in her voice. "I'm not too great at anything else at school, Mama. There are a few girls that are better at writing, and analyzing, and there are girls who are better at languages than me, and there are definitely many more girls who are better at maths. I'm the best at what I do, Mama. I can make a profession out of it, and if I turn out to be not good enough to perform, I can teach at the least."

Her mother didn't reply, she merely smiled more. "Is... is that what you wanted?"

Suddenly, her mother's hands went to the sides of her face and she planted a kiss on her forehead, and it was all so strange. "Mama, what-"

"No, no, Alice, that was exactly what I wanted to hear," she exclaimed, walking back to the door. "I'll tell Anna not to come and wake you until nine, all right, darling?"

"Yes, thank you," Alice replied simply. Her mother disappeared through the door and Alice turned to shut her lamp off.

Never in a million years did Alice expect this exchange to go over well. She snuggled her face into her pillow in nothing but pure happiness. "Thank you," she whispered into the dark of her room.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading as usual! I'd love to hear back from you, because I like to hear your thoughts and input. Also, follow me on tumblr! I love meeting fellow Downton fans! :)

(also I can't put a date on when the next update will be... school will literally be the death of me)

Bailey xx


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